How to survive in the Romance Fantasy Game

Chapter 334: Ascension



The moonlight cast a silver glow over the city as night settled in.

The once-bustling streets of the commercial district still hummed with activity, though compared to the daytime, the energy had slightly dimmed.

Lanterns flickered along the roads, casting warm golden hues over the cobblestone pathways, and the distant chatter of merchants and customers created a lively yet subdued ambiance.

Beneath the public section of East Blue Café, within the concealed underground chamber that only a select few had access to, the atmosphere was vastly different.

"Haaah!! Fuck this!"

A loud, irritated voice shattered the relative silence of the dimly lit room.

A burly, middle-aged man groaned as he slammed himself down onto a chair, his frustration evident in the way he carelessly tossed his chef's hat onto the corner of the table. The day had finally ended, but the stress clinging to his body refused to dissipate. He reached into his jacket, pulling out a pack of cigars with rough, calloused fingers.

With a flick of his middle finger, a small flame ignited at the tip, and he lit the cigar with practiced ease.

Puffing out a thick cloud of smoke, he exhaled sharply, his frustration seeping into the air.

As he leaned back into his seat, he carelessly propped his boots onto the large circular table in the center of the room.

The four other individuals already seated there barely reacted to his outburst.

They had long since grown accustomed to his antics.

However, their indifference was soon interrupted by the sharp voice of a young woman who had just entered the private chamber.

"Bulko! How many times have I told you not to throw your chef hat around like that?!" she snapped, her tone laced with annoyance as she shot a glare in his direction.

The burly man-Bulko-grunted in response, not bothering to remove his feet from the table.

The woman crossed her arms, clicking her tongue in disapproval before continuing, "Do you even know how hard it is to clean that? This isn't just some ordinary chef's hat! It's a premium hat, one I obtained from that top-tier chef we... offered to the Great Being. You should treasure it—it's been blessed by his divine influence, after all."

Her words carried an almost reverent undertone, but Bulko merely rolled his eyes, taking another slow drag from his cigar.

"Tch. Like I give a damn about some 'blessing.' That old bastard cooked one good meal, and that was the end of it. Ain't like his hat's gonna make me a better chef," he muttered, exhaling another thick cloud of smoke.

The woman's expression twitched with irritation, but instead of arguing further, she simply sighed, rubbing her temples.

The night had barely begun, yet already, the tension in the room was rising.

"Hey, don't say that! The Great Being personally blessed his soul, you know? That blessing should naturally extend to his belongings as well!" Martha argued, crossing her arms as she shot Bulko a disapproving glare.

Bulko scoffed, dragging a hand down his face in frustration. "Great Being, my ass. We haven't even made a proper offering since we got here! Didn't you just kidnap some random chef off the streets?"

He exhaled sharply, slamming his cigar onto the ashtray.

"And Martha, do you even know how damn hard it is to work in the kitchen with that ridiculous, oversized white hat? It's practically begging to get dirty every five fucking seconds!"

"I told you to pick the smaller one, didn't I?"

Martha countered with a huff, rolling her eyes as she leaned against the table.

"Oh, come on now! We need to maintain a dignified disguise, you know? The height of a chef's hat signifies one's value and skill! It's only natural for a top-tier restaurant like ours to uphold such appearances~" she added in a singsong tone, as if she had rehearsed the line a hundred times before.

Bulko clicked his tongue in annoyance, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed. "Tsk! This fucking rush hour is already killing me, man. And seriously, when the hell are we allowed to act? We've been holed up in this damn place for almost a month now, and nothing's changed except for more waiting and waiting. I swear, I'm gonna lose my damn mind if I have to cook another overpriced steak for some snot-nosed noble brat!"

Martha let out a light chuckle, as if amused by his frustration.

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